


Harboring a Fugitive

by Shiggityshwa



Series: La Troisième Fois [5]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Developing Relationship, F/M, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-14 06:54:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15383142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiggityshwa/pseuds/Shiggityshwa
Summary: Vala dealing with her third trimester of pregnancy in three very different relationships. Each chapter is AU. Part 5 of 9





	1. Too Damn Good

**Author's Note:**

> Reminder that each chapter of this story are AU from each other. 
> 
> Also thanks to everyone who's enjoyed the series so far. I have the next story done but I'm stuck on the one after. Also the huge freaking Unending fic I'm writing is angst central and drains me.

It is not miraculous. That’s all it is.

She feels dreadful. In the last three months, she’s never felt more awful and that includes being burnt alive twice. Food is no longer a treat on her senses, the smell of fresh bread or muffins, the taste of sweet chocolate fudge ice cream. The crunch of an apple, like the one she made Muscles lift her to grab, which started an all-out war with the natives of PX3-235. The team has apologized for her, she has apologized for her, the SGC has apologized for her, and yet they simply will not be satisfied until they can behead her. Bluntly told Cameron so during negotiations and he almost flipped the table, or so Sam said, she was not invited for obvious reasons and even more obvious reasons.

She’s huge and cannot eat because she is in a constant state of nausea, and with not eating comes weakness and with the weakness comes a frail immune system and she has been sick with a cold, a flu, and something Dr. Lam called brawn-kite-us all in a single pregnancy trimester. For most of the day she’s anchored to her bed. She floats to the bathroom as needed and if it’s an odd numbered day she visits Dr. Lam two floors down huffing and falls asleep in the infirmary for a few hours until someone comes and escorts her back to her room like an invalid. Dr. Lam is worried, Cameron is worried, Sam and Daniel and Teal’c are worried, even General Landry checks in on her once a day for what she thinks is reassurance she’s still breathing.

But she keeps up her mood for them. Always smiling and happy and playful despite feeling like a bomb went off inside of her, despite barely having enough energy to sit up in bed. But she lives the dream, gets paid to watch reruns of Cupcake Battles all day and she falls asleep to fever dreams of choking on cupcakes, or PX3-235 natives chucking cupcakes at her from the treeline, or being impregnated with a cupcake. She jolts up straight, sweats and pants and coughs until she brings up mucus from her throat and makes note that she’ll need more medicine tomorrow. Slaps a hand to the wall and drags herself to her washroom where if she’s lucky she can pee and make it back to bed before falling asleep.

They still try to keep her occupied, try to get her input on items, Sam with engineering and Daniel with an artifact he’s trying to translate, and she turns her head towards them while they talk and listens to their lovely musical voices and the dips and dives of syllables and smiles peacefully into her pillow and when she wakes two or five or eight hours later they’re gone. Sometimes they tell her it’s the next day. Once they told her it was a new month and she slept away her second trimester.

Cupcake Battles is a rerun she’s seen at least twelve times at this point, but she loves the little intricate design, and envies that someone would take the time to so delicately decorate a food item for someone they cared for and she gets emotional, her hand flapping over her nose and eyes and he enters the room.  

“Hey Princ—What’s the matter this time?” Visits her most often, visits them actually, she’s fallen asleep and woken up to him reading that ‘what are you gonna do you got pregnant’ book to her womb, like the fetus will understand what a mucus plug is.

“It’s the cupcakes again,” sobs into her hand still fanning her face.

“The nightmares or the tv show?” Tugs out a few tissues from her nightstand which she cannot reach because turning on her side at this point involves a two man team. “Good tears or bad tears?”

“Good and tv.” Points to the little web cupcakes on screen made with custard innards and a geometric pattern of chocolate and vanilla batter. On the top sits a little chocolate chip spider and it’s so cute she sobs again.

“Vala.” Brushes her tears away with the tissues and the pads of his fingers skim her cheeks. “Sweetheart, you’ve got to stop watching this—” His probable finish would be ‘show’, but she’s this emotional over everything now. Yesterday when she mustered up the courage for a trek to the cafeteria with Sam, she cried because when she took a croissant there was one left all on it’s lonesome. She had an emotional breakdown and didn’t stop until Dr. Lee volunteered to eat the last one.

But instead of finishing his sentence he cups a hand over her forehead, his gentle expression hardening as he tries to hide his concern. “Do you have a fever?”

“I don’t know, but I’ve been feeling under the weather again lately.”

Bunches her hair up and off her neck to allow heat to vent, her skin is wet with perspiration and her hair clumpy with moisture. “Did you let Lam know?”

“She said I could pop by this afternoon.” He gently guides her forward, which opens her airway a bit and alleviates the pain in her sides and lower back. “She’s busy inoculating teams ten to fifteen this morning.”

“You have just had a shit run at this.” His chuckle isn’t one from humor, but more apologetic. There’s a tug on her hair and it disappears off her back as he ties it up. “From what I’ve read of that baby book, the second trimester is supposed to be a breeze. It’s all energy and sex.”

Tugs the covers off her legs, leaving her in a pair of boxers and a tank top because nothing she owns fits anymore and is not likely to ever fit her again. “If you ever try to have sex with me again after this I will split you in two.”

“I would actually judge you if you didn’t.” Watches her stomach while she giggles, as it bounces, stuck in the ribbed black fabric. He adjusts her shirt so it covers her completely, and leaves his hand on her stomach. “I told Landry today.”

The bouncing stops, but his hand remains stationary. Tiredness drains from her eyes and she stifles an itchy cough in her throat. “I thought we agreed to do that together.”

“Yeah, I know, but I think you’ve got your hands full right now.” Hands her the water from the bedside table, which she cannot reach,  and she downs almost half the cup before he takes it away knowing too much will just cause her to vomit. Everything causes her to vomit.

“What did he say?”

“That he thought Daniel did it.”

She laughs and the whooping cough escapes. He holds her steady as tears pluck at her eyes and her face turns red. “I think we should go see Dr. Lam now.”

“Everyone probably thinks this is Daniel’s work.” Gestures to the bump which is almost comically big and throwing off her center of gravity even while sitting. “Daniel probably thinks he did it.”

“Yeah well,” Pulls at her legs, turning them to the side of the bed as she rolls her eyes at him. He ignores this and continues getting her ready for their two-day journey down two floors. “Landry wasn’t angry, but he definitely wasn’t pleased.”

“Did he want to know what type of vampiric demon spawn you impregnated me with?” She lifts her bum has he starts the yoga pants for her. Before he can try to help her, she stands, and sways and he runs interference between her and anything she can crash down on.

“No but he wanted to know how long we’d been fraternizing because it’s a big no-no on the base. Wanted to know if we were dating and when I told him no he wanted to know why not and got all Papa Bear about it.” He sets her ballet flats, which literally are flat with her expansive weight, underneath her feet and she scoots her toes into them. The swelling in her chest happens again and it might either be another cup of mucus or an emotional overload. “No crying. Don’t cry.”

“I thought of the croissant again.” All alone and left out, not being able to complete the basic task of offering nutrition. Its one purpose.

He’s at her door, pushes the button and the hallway lights flood in making her cough again. “Lee ate the damn croissant, Vala.”

“But what if he hadn’t?”

*

Dr. Lam’s face is unperturbed as she pulls away the thermometer declaring, “101.4, your third fever this month.”

“Well I’ve always aimed to be exemplary,” she coughs. Cameron stands beside the bed, his arms crossed like he might physically fight the fever for her. He’s never looked so serious.

The doctor’s eyes slide from her to him and back to her and of course the rumors, not even rumors really because they’re true, have made it around the base quicker than whatever illness she’s now infected with. Dr. Lam writes the temperature down on her chart and pulls an IV stand closer. She hates being stuck with the needles and the goop flowing into her arm. “You know, Vala, you’re in your last trimester now, you might just think about staying in the infirmary for the next few months, it might be easier.”

“I am not moving in here.”

“Come on, Princess,” Cameron flashes around the other side of her, his scowl erased and his voice commandeering her attention away from the IV sticking into the back of her hand. “I’ll bring in a big screen tv and you and all the nurses can watch Cupcake Battles all day.”

In a gritty tone, her voice on the edge of collapse, she declares, “I am not moving into the infirmary.”

“No, you are not,” he agrees shrugging away his lame attempt to convince her.

Dr. Lam rolls her eyes, “I’ll go get your meds.”

Cameron squats beside the bed, his arms crossed over one another and his chin resting on top. He watches her stomach jiggle with her breathing, watches the band around it print out the heartbeat of their baby in waves of lines. “Have I told you how much of a trooper you are?”

“Shut up, Cameron,” she laughs, as he does, and again rubs the top of her stomach.

“I mean it Vala, there is no way I could do what you’re doing.”

She yawns, and it sputters into a cough and the little squiggly lines fall up and down and then evens out. “Perhaps that’s why I’m the woman.”

“Do you wish you could take it back?”

Observes him with a slight slant and notices the stars behind his eyes have doubled and rival the size of her stomach, his hope, his pride, his love for her, whether platonic or not, his love for their child. “No,” she taps the side of his face with her hand and he kisses her palm.

“Me neither.” They continue to watch the electronic readout of a person they’ve never met, a person they created while possibly drunk or in the aftermath of a bad mission. His hand curls around her thigh and he adds, “The sex was too damn good.”

 


	2. Little Lives

It is life threatening. That’s all it is.

His promise of protection rings in her head as she sits on the hard stone bench exposed to a beating sun. She doesn’t know how long she’s been sitting but the sun has set at least once. Thought it was bad before when the ignited oil coiled up her leg and into her body, but the fire, the flames, the image of her own crispy body lingers in her head and she feels her shoulders ache with their confinement, the skin on her wrist being chewed away by the heavy cuffs chaining her like an animal, like a circus act in place while the villagers ignore her, or swear and curse her, or wish ill begotten things on her unborn child. Some of them spit on her when they pass, some throw small pebbles at her and it’s pretty unbearable before she passes out the first time.

Then she’s lying in bed, a four poster with a beautiful canopy made for a queen rung around the top, but the fire is back and crawling around unbridled on the ceiling, and it’s the same ceiling her and Tomin used to stare at when they fell asleep, up until very recently when her new bedroom became the center of the town square. He would cradle her from behind in the early spring coldness, the whisper of winter still present in the morning when frost laps at the windows and the chill whistles in from outside. His hand holding the weight of her stomach, protecting and watchful even as they slept. If she stirred he would be on his feet, ready to aid her in anyway he could. He’s made many midnight breakfasts.  

The flames are not for him though, and he is not entertained in the bed with her. Instead the flame is whoever put this child inside of her, no copulation necessary, no getting to know her or her wishes, just plucking her up from subspace while she zipped through a blackhole to another galaxy and planted a seed deep inside of her and then tossed her to the ground. She wonders if the baby will play with fire on the ceiling as he does, create great visages from the curling heat to scream at her and threaten to gulp her whole.

When she wakes she’s thirsty, obviously, and the sight of a villager helping himself to the square water supply cracks her lips, others come and slurp the rainwater off the silver scoop, some glare at her menacingly and overexaggerate the deliciousness and refreshment, only to her it’s not an exaggeration, she yanks at the cuffs and they bite into her skin further, she tries to stand, to stretch her back and the chain lead gives hold. All day she smells freshly made food items, breads, buns, biscuits, muffins, stews, and meats and her mouth waters enough to give her a bit of a drink, but her spit is thick, and her skin is becoming tight.

Finally, she falls into another sleep, but knows it’s different, knows this should be the final rest and she knows this because she’s back at Cheyenne Mountain, laying in the bedroom they gave her listening to Earth music on a set of headphones she stole from Daniel’s office along with two credit cards, his extra set of glasses, an asthma inhaler and a copy of his passwords to the system. The music isn’t the normal bard type music that plays at the pubs on planets she frequents, it’s an entirely different type of dialect, a different rhythm of melancholic whining that she can picture Daniel listening to quite easily. She doesn’t hear him knock at the door because of the headphones and she doesn’t see him because her eyes are closed in daydream, in wondering what Daniel was like as a more emotional teenager insinuating that his guardians should go procreate with themselves.

He yanks the earphones from her head and rolls her over on the bed grabbing the white rectangular music player from beneath her. “Oh darling, I love it when you take charge.”

“What are you doing with this?” Holds the player out to her, the once straight and perfect cords of the headphones are now intertangled and the rubber has bent away to expose wiring.

“Calm down, I—”

“I’m not here for your entertainment,” yells at her, red-faced and missing his glasses and she tries not to think to much about the other pair tucked away in her top drawn between unmentionables. “You don’t get to take things from me without asking, you need to start acting like a decent human being.”

“I just wanted to hear your music, I thought I’d be able to understand—”

“It you want to understand someone better, just ask them.”

“Then tell me about yourself.”

In her reverie he does. The anger relaxes on his face and he takes a seat next to her on the bed. He opens up something he calls a playlist and he runs through the general meaning of some of the songs with her, he becomes animated when he speaks of them, stutters like they’re ancient artifacts he buried away in a tiny white rectangle to bring up when he wants to remember his mother, his father, his wife. In her dream this is how it ends with them sharing a set of earphones and laughing as he mouths the words to her. In reality, he stormed out of her room and she fell asleep alone and saddened.

When she wakes up the second time she’s back in the bed, the four post bed with the lovely canopy run around the top. There’s no fire man threatening to masticate her in the ceiling, there’s no fire at all anywhere but in the hearth a few feet from the bed, flickering and crackling. She’s been cleaned up and had a change of clothing back into the nightgown he procured for her on her first night in the house. The dirt and grime from the dusty square mixing with her sweat as been cleansed away from her body, her sunburnt collarbone has had a salve applied to it, irritation lingers on her thighs and legs were urine soaked through for too long. Her muscles are tense and simultaneously underused, her head swims and her stomach roars for food, for water, for attention. The fetus, nearly viable out of womb, bangs on pots and pans for sustenance.

“Please forgive me,” the declaration is hardly above a whisper and blends in with the popping fire and the tone of wind through cracked glass. He stands by the opposite side of the bed to not frighten her, perhaps in case she wishes to be through with him and she partly does. If this was a marriage of any other circumstance she would stargate the hell out of her and her child until a commerce planet came into view and she could relax and disappear among the populace. It’s happened before, it’s bound to happen again, but there’s no stargate and this isn’t the galaxy she knows. Everyone wishes to cause her harm, her baby harm, and there’s only so much she can do as a solitary person.

So she accepts his weeping apology, accepts the cup of clear, cool water and sips it in gratitude like it wasn’t partly his doing that she hadn’t had water for three days. Stokes her mouth full of stew so quickly in repetition that he takes the spoon from her and feeds her as an invalid less she vomit up all her delicious nutrients and then they’d have to start over. When she’s fed and clean and free of thirst, he climbs into bed next to her in his night clothes and she doesn’t curl up against him as she usually would, enjoying the scent of leather and metal and heat and sweat, but she stares at the ceiling just praying to keep fire faces away. His hand lands on her expanded stomach, large with child, who’s child, anyone’s guess, and he whispers to her, “I am sorry I left you for so long. It will not happen again.”

Only the fire and wind answer his question because her eyes are hard trained on the ceiling, searching and wanting answers. Wanting a way out. “Do you feel well, has the baby resumed kicking?”

She doesn’t answer, the taste of boar stew still fresh in her throat, her stomach full but unbloated and her trust absolutely shattered in the man she took for a husband without knowing the barest thing about. When she closes her eyes, she’s lying on her back on a bed with earphones in and her stomach is delightfully flat and Daniels’ eye glasses are still in her unmentionable drawer, he’s beside her, his hand jostling her knee as they chuckle at lyrics at the twang of a guitar or the tweet of a flute. She feels safe. She feels content. She feels loved.

*

“I can’t believe the baby survived that.” Samantha’s face shows no morals or regret over her question, the insinuation of her child, her probable biological prowess growing within her, still thriving on boar stew and beet biscuits and all sorts of crunchy root vegetables, because the child is insatiable, and the child is only partly human, her partly human which according to an upset Daniel is barely human at all.

Borrowing the cadence, the no nonsense tone because their time for communication is ticking closer as is her due date and she really does not want to give birth in this bed, she adds, “Part of me was hoping it didn’t.”

Samantha averts her eyes, perhaps knowing all too well about horrible situations and bringing little lives into them. Knowing what it’s like to trail clues through alleys until finding a hidden door, knocking and asking for help because her third husband was brutal, and she would not allow her baby to be brutalized by him as she was.

“I’m kind of surprised that part of you was hoping it did,” Mitchell ensnares himself in his honesty, his words too blunt, too insinuative about her nature. “I mean, given how it was conceived.”

She swallows and thinks of Tomin’s heavy hand on her stomach in the last three weeks since he brought her in from the square, how she’s flinched away at his touches, how several years before the touches of her third husband were worse, harder and she cried a goodbye to her firstborn before drinking a tonic and falling asleep.

“It’s hard to explain.” She squints away her tears, Daniel’s tears, and can’t directly put into words how she has nothing left in this world, but the child forcefully implanted in her.

 

 


	3. Crystal Ball

It is unwelcome. That’s all it is.

 

“There you are,” his voice is a gruff chuckle as he opens the door to the upper balcony. A few years before she leaned across the same balcony with Daniel, telling him to appreciate what they had discovered in Atlantis together, to be grateful they had answers to their most basic of questions instead of mulling on the fact that the ancients weren’t going to help them destroy the Ori. It was a long shot anyway. What she often forgets is before she stood out where with him in the beautiful twinkling backdrop of the city at night, was that she stood out here alone first, slipping away from him, Mitchell, Sam, all the Atlantis goonies for a moment of peace and reflection. The city appeared endless and full of hopes, the air was clear and before she went to sleep that night she could still taste the salt from the ocean on her skin.

The wind is not so gentle now, a storm system has been formulating over the past week or so causing the tide to swirl in upheaval, the skies aren’t pink or orange or a shimmery golden anymore, but white, then gray, then a dark gray, then black. Thunder roars in the distance and the wind picks up licking at the bare skin on her arms.

Her jacket doesn’t fit anymore.

“Girl, you are going to catch one hell of a cold if you stay out here much longer.” Tall and unwavering, he stands like a statue carved from marble, the kind Qetesh would have hoarded. Wind flaps his hair around and before long she feels the weight of his leather jacket drop against her shoulders. It’s more like a leather robe on her. “What are you doing?”

“Thinking,” sighs into the air, barely audible under the hiss of the wind.

“Thinking or brooding?” Folds his bare arms against the railing and stretches out, bows his back so he’s level with her. “Because one of those things you can do in the privacy of your room.”

“Brooding,” she clarifies with a weak and tired smile. It’s been a hectic few months. The discovery of a possible religion connecting the facets of the Wraith and the Ori has been causing her and McKay, whom she has no time to bicker with anymore, to work double or triple shifts. She’s fallen asleep in her chair, the examination table, and once briefly while leaning against the wall.

“Let me guess.” Tosses his head towards her, his eyebrows arched in investigating her reasoning, eyes squinting like he can read her. She doesn’t know very much about his race, so he very well could, but, they might be beyond that now. “It’s about this Jackson idiot, right?”

“Somewhat.”

“You want me to beat the shit out of him as soon as he rings in?” It’s a joke but it’s also an offer, can’t imagine Ronon’s lumbering body smashing down appendages, stronger, hulking appendages than Daniel could ever fathom, and leaving a pile of rubble in his wake.

She’s still getting emails, videos, letters and she still deletes them all with a heavier conscience because her hormones are starting to get the better of her. She has a drawer full of letters this baby will inherit, and she will never read a single one. In a few days, however, she will have to deal with Daniel face-to-face, as he’s managed to wheedle his way onto the _Hammond_ and will be stopping over with Samantha for seven to ten days while the ship restocks and fuels up.

Having to call a meeting not only to announce her pregnancy, but to out Daniel as the father and explain the animosity between them was shameful, it was completely embarrassing and afterwards she scurried away to the cafeteria to drown herself in strawberry jello. Ronon tracked her there, slamming his large form into the seat beside her and shoved something at her arm, assuming it was tissues she thanked him and then went to grab one, but came back with a beautiful red, ripe strawberry. Her eyes glazed over with tears and she cried with mouthfuls of the fruit leaking from the corners of her lips like jam. Clasped onto him as he patted her back, gentle touch and soft voice, and handed her more strawberries until she calmed.

What was really surprising, is that he wasn’t her only support. Colonel Shephard and Teyla approached her in her office, along with a very curious, very hazardous Torren, and offered their help as scapegoats. John extended  that at any time she felt uncomfortable he would situate her somewhere else for the week’s duration. Teyla always said she could shadow her if she needed an excuse to get away. McKay slammed down his tray across from her in the commissary and said something along the lines that all scientists, save for her current company, were assholes and if she wanted him to school the good Dr. Jackson in what was right he had no problem defending her honor. She broke out into thick, sloppy tears of gratitude each time.

Answers him with downtrodden eyes as the wind picks up whipping strands of her hair about her face. He collects them with tender fingers and tucks them behind her ears, his hands remain stationary on her cheeks, and his eyes ask a quick question before his lips land on hers, reaffirming and trusting, honest and supportive. His hand cups the back of her head, easily cradling her to him, but she deepens the kiss, a tentative flick of her tongue over his lips and into his mouth. He inhales her, breathes her in as her nose jabs against his cheek, as his forehead bonks against hers. One of her hands traces the lines of his facial hair and topples down his throat.

They part, breathing heavy and satisfied for their first exploration. His forehead rests against hers and his fingers still spin in her hair, she playfully roles one of his earlobes between her fingers. “That Jackson guy is a real idiot.”

*

When Sam sees the state of her she howls, dropping her bag and running towards her, hands outstretched. Skinny arms fling around her back hugging her and they hold it briefly, the familiar scents of each other, Sam’s rose shampoo, her choice of an almost neutral perfume, the fresh quick drying coat of clear nail polish transports them back to six months prior, to shopping trips and coffees and gossip magazines. Then her hands drop to her stomach, palms pressing inward trying to gauge anything about the pregnancy. “You’ve been busy.”

“Well there’s not a lot to do up here—”

“You’re almost cooked.”

“Two more months actually.”

“Boy or girl?”

“Don’t really care, just, you know—healthy.”

“And not hell bent on destroying all life.”

He pops in behind her, travel bag slung casually over his shoulder. He’s wearing his green uniform and his glasses, and his hair is starting to lighten around his temples and into the beard he’s let grow. “That has yet to be seen,” the change in her voice, the bitterness alerts Sam, who glances behind her to Daniel then back to her. With one nod she answers the unasked question and Sam rolls her eyes.

She nods once to her one-time lover, her old best friend, and something within her aches because of the way she feels towards him now. “Daniel.”

“Vala—I—you look—” Starts three separate sentences all while trying to reign in his loose travel bag.

“I’ve volunteered to show you the whereabouts of your rooms.” Turns her back to him, ignoring his fallen luggage and the expression of wide-eyed disbelief at her wide hipped big belly, and instead begins her job. “Since you’ve both been privy to life aboard Atlantis before, I’ll skip over all the boring details and just remind you to keep in uniform as there are so many bloody people here it helps us discern where you belong.”  

Counts down the seconds waiting until he points out the fatal flaw she stitched in place. He makes it two minutes and thirty-eight seconds, which happens to be when they’re on the first lift.

“You’re—uh—you’re not wearing a uniform,” interrupts the silence, the sound of gears shifting in the shaft.

“No, I’m not. Keen eye as ever, Daniel.” Pulls the material of her long-sleeved black top so it tucks under the considerable dip of her stomach. “I’m simply growing to quickly for them to keep up in uniform sizes, by the time they get them to me, I need another size up. I’m afraid to say the ordeal ended up with me and Colonel Shepperd in tears, so we came to an agreement that a black shirt was sufficient. You might be able to come to the same agreement with him, but you’ll have to be manufacturing a tiny person in your being.”

“Yeah, no that’s okay. That’s—”

The lift dings and the doors slide open revealing Ronon waiting patiently, nervously with his precious thumbs twiddling. She told him she didn’t need him for support that day, but secretly wanted him there, secretly, and her baby kicks in his direction.

“Hey Lil’ Mama,” greets her with a wide grin, one of relief, like the three hours they haven’t seen each other have caused him sleepless nights. Without taking his attention away from her, he holds an arm out to Sam, who complies in giving him her baggage. “Gonna have to cancel our golfing excursion.”

“Waves to high, darling?” Tries not to preen over him like she wants to, to hook her arm through his, swing with his gait as she waddles because she hasn’t felt like this in a long time. This confident, this relaxed, but she got here on good graces and there’s no need to gloat.

“Damn near blew McKay out to sea.”

“Really?”

“Well the man’s full of hot air.”

Samantha’s room happens to be just across the hall from hers, but this is privier information than she’s willing to reveal. Instead she makes plans with the Colonel, for what she calls third lunch, and they agree to meet in the commissary shortly.

She and Ronon walk slightly ahead of Daniel in the tight hallway as he toddles behind, his investigative brain still putting the building blocks together of where he belongs in the situation which he’ll certainly find is not in it. They reach a stairwell just before the men’s dorms and they halt.

“Want me to go save you a table? Grab you some food? You must be getting pretty hungry” Ronon asks almost bowing down to her again. He’s been with her the last four months almost every day, knows the cyclical pattern to her food, proteins in the morning, fruit at lunch, tries to get her to eat something else but fruit for dinner and she gets sick. Maybe sneak in a slice of cheese.

“Yes please.”

“Alright, lets see what it is today.” He uses his wrist to mimic polishing her stomach and she chuckles at the friction tickling her skin. When he’s finished he places his large hands on either side of her belly, holding her still, and cranes an ear to her stomach. “Peaches.”

“Yes.”

“Pomegranate.”

“Yes.”

“Half a banana.”

“Yes.”

“Broccoli?”

Her nose twitches in slight disgust but it may be the best option out of the choices provided. “I suppose.”

“With cheese.”

“Get out.” She slaps him away playfully, he catches her hand in midair and kisses it gently. The moment is so pure, so unadulterated and full of joy, that she forgets Daniel is even present until Ronon disappears up the stairs.

She nods to the hallway, and he wobbles down after her, his bag unbalancing him a bit, his child unbalancing her. They don’t speak until passing the B cabins. Daniel is in G. Apparently Shepperd really wasn’t impressed with him.

“Seems like a nice guy,” he finally breaks the ice by belly flopping straight onto it.

“One of the best I’ve ever met.”

“How long have you been seeing him?”

“Since yesterday afternoon.” It’s true but the flirtation, the foundation of their relationship started the moment he explained the amphora to her during her first month. “He made the first move on me which was refreshing, although I haven’t asked him if he was being controlled by a system lord yet.”

“Are we going to talk about this?”

They’re at E now, so if she hurries her waddling perhaps they won’t have to. “I did my talking back on Earth, Daniel. I’m quite candid with my feelings, you’ll find.”

“But you didn’t give me a chance to explain mine.”

“Yes, I did. For six weeks I did, and you denied sleeping with me, you continually blamed me, you turned the night of our baby’s conception into a classless occasion.”

“Okay—so I wasn’t the greatest at admitting my feelings, but I never am. I can never get it together on time and after you left I tried to explain to you how I felt—I’m ready now. I’m ready for you, and our baby. I—I want you to come back to Earth, to the SGC. I want to try to be a family.”

“I think it’s lovely you feel this way.” Her hand rubs his shoulder in reassurance because she is proud of him for taking some modicum of responsibility. “But my family is here. I’m staying here, raising my baby here.”

“Then where do I fit in?”

“You don’t.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry that all three parts of this story couldn't be uploaded at once, I'll try to post the other two chapters by the end of the week.


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